


A Golden Thread Between Hearts

by bygoshbygolly



Category: Seasons of Glass and Iron - Amal El-Mohtar
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 07:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12186054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygoshbygolly/pseuds/bygoshbygolly
Summary: “What do you want to see?” she asked Amira that first night, the night they left their burdens behind.“Everything,” replied Amira.Tabitha and Amira travel, and grow, and love.





	A Golden Thread Between Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pendrecarc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendrecarc/gifts).



Freedom is frozen feet and an empty stomach and sleeping on the hard ground. Freedom is turned ankles and bloody scratches and bone-deep tiredness.

Freedom is difficult, and it is wonderful. The world is so much larger than Amira imagined, even from atop her glass hill. After three years spent unmoving, able only to observe, the ability to _move_ , to _do_ , is intoxicating.

Tabitha warned her that it would be rough going, but she doesn’t complain, and so Amira doesn’t either. Instead she learns to distinguish what plants are good to eat from those that cause harm. She learns to catch fish, to clean and cook them. Her lovely skin burns in the sun, and her feet and hands blister and roughen. 

She looks at her reflection in a river one morning, her dark hair tangled and face peeling, and wonders if her own father would recognize her now.

* * *

Tabitha feels too light, unbalanced without her husband’s skin and her iron shoes. Her feet are gnarled, broken things, and it hurts to walk. But she is free, and Amira is with her, and so it is bearable. Amira doesn’t complain, and so neither does Tabitha.

“What do you want to see?” she asked Amira that first night, the night they left their burdens behind.

“Everything,” replied Amira.

Tabitha doesn’t think she can show Amira everything, but she can try. There’s plenty in the world she hasn’t seen, either. It’s a warm thought, the two of them seeing new things together.

Her husband taught her how to live off the land, and she teaches everything she knows to Amira. She’d forgotten how much easier it is with two, even if one of those two is still learning. Under Tabitha’s eyes Amira grows stronger, tougher. The softness around her eyes and mouth disappears; she’s still beautiful, Tabitha thinks.

* * *

The days are getting warmer, but the nights are cold without Tabitha’s bearskin, and they find themselves curled around one another more often than not. Amira grows used to Tabitha’s arms around her waist, to her breath in her ear. Tabitha snores—Amira never noticed that during their time on the glass hill.

“We should look into getting proper bedrolls,” Tabitha says one morning, stretching. Amira works out the stiffness in her joints. Funny, how one night on the forest floor can do what three years on a glass throne couldn’t.

“Or at least some blankets,” Amira allows. She wouldn’t mind blankets, although she’d miss the feeling of waking up with Tabitha.

* * *

Tabitha eats the last of the golden apples the morning they watch the geese rise off the river. It’s still firm, burnt-sugar sweet. _Magic_ , she thinks, and offers Amira a bite.

Amira shakes her head. Her eyes don’t leave the birds swimming on the water, honking conversationally to one another. Her eyes are wide with wonder, and Tabitha wonders what they look like to her. To Tabitha, the geese just look like geese, ridiculous birds that they are.

They watch in silence for a while. They’re comfortable with silence, and with each other, and it’s the point in spring where the sun is warm rather than merely decorative. Still…

“I don’t think they’re going anywhere,” Amira says finally. She’s smiling, but Tabitha feels a twinge of irritation anyway. She wants Amira to hear the geese as they take off. She promised.

Tabitha takes a deep breath, tips her head back, and lets loose a short, piercing yell. Next to her, Amira startles, but her gaze shoots back to the river as the geese take off all at once with a noise like thunder. She laughs, barely audible under the din, but it’s a bright sound, and Tabitha feels a squeeze in her chest at the look on her face.

* * *

“Are we married?” Amira asks one evening as they gaze at the stars. She feels Tabitha start beside her, and turns her head. “Only, you proposed, and we exchanged gifts, but is that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Tabitha replies slowly. She scuffs her heels against the ground. Amira wonders if she notices she does that, moves her feet when she’s thinking or anxious. Is it a remnant of her year in iron shoes? Or has Tabitha always been restless? “Most times there is a ceremony, witnesses to the union of husband and wife. But we aren’t husband and wife.”

“No,” smiles Amira. “We aren’t.” She has never wanted a husband. She wants Tabitha, though, with her strength and restlessness and ruined feet. “I would be your wife though, if you would be mine.”

Tabitha sucks in a breath.

* * *

“Oh,” she breathes, and turns her head to meet Amira’s gaze. It’s dark, but she’s used to seeing Amira in the dark, and so she has no problem seeing the soft smile, the question in her eyes. “I- I never—“ She falters, unsure how to say that she didn’t think anyone but her husband would ever want to marry her; that she hadn't truly believed Amira loved her, but she thinks she does now; that she never thought she could love without pain, but she is willing to try.

“It’s all right,” says Amira, and the smile is gone. She’s frozen, as if she’s back on her glass hill. There is a looseness to her movements, normally, but there are moments when she reverts back to her old stillness. “I know you have been married—are married—already. I just wanted to tell you.” 

“Amira.” Tabitha rolls onto her side and reaches out a hand. “I would kiss you, if you would let me.”

“I would let you.”

* * *

Tabitha’s mouth is warm and dry on hers. It feels odd, and wonderful, and Amira pulls Tabitha closer.

“Are we married now?” she asks. “I have heard marriages are sealed with a kiss.” Tabitha snorts.

“You spent three years atop a glass hill to avoid marriage. Have you changed your mind so soon?”

“I spent three years atop a glass hill to avoid a husband,” Amira corrects. “And if I had not done so, I never would have met you.” She pauses, remembering the loneliness, the curses from her suitors below. “I will not say that it was worth it, for I would rather have never been on that hill, but I will say that I love you, and that I am happy to know you.”

“Likewise,” Tabitha replies, her voice thick with emotion. “I would rather I had never been hurt by my husband, and that I had never worn out the soles of four pairs of iron shoes. I can’t change the past, though, and so I am glad we met. I would like to continue knowing you, and to love you, as much as I can.” She takes Amira’s hand in hers. It’s rough. It’s comforting.

“I would kiss you, if you would let me.” Amira repeats her words back to her, and Tabitha laughs.

“I would let you.”

* * *

Summer is nearly here, and Tabitha wonders if they should go to town. She has been steering them away from other people, half-certain that being back amongst them would make her regret the past months. It was a foolish thought, but who doesn’t have foolish thoughts every now and then?

“What would you like to do next?” she asks Amira.

“I’d like to buy shoes,” Amira replies firmly. “Not ones of silk or iron, but solid. Shoes made for protection.” Tabitha smiles.

“That sounds good.”

They walk. Tabitha guesses they’ll come across a village or a town soon—she can see signs of other humans here and there. Not very close, or the signs would be more obvious, but close enough that there are some who come this way regularly.

“I’ve been selfish,” Amira says suddenly. Tabitha blinks.

“How so?”

“We have spent all this time walking, and you have taught me so much, and what have I done for you? I never even asked if you wanted to rest!” Her hands are clenched, and she retreats into tense stillness.

“Amira.” Tabitha takes hold of her hands. “You have done more for me than I could have known to ask for. I don’t think you’re selfish.”

“But—“

“Besides,” interrupts Tabitha, “if you are selfish, then I must also be selfish. I have kept us all this time in the forests and wilds, and never asked if you would rather go to town. I didn’t want to give up the happiness I have found with you.”

“I never could have left without you,” Amira says. “I’ll never be able to repay that.”

“Without you, I would have worn down seven pairs of iron shoes for a husband who does not love me.” Tabitha brings Amira’s hands to her lips and kisses them. “We can only move forward.” The tension goes out of Amira’s body, and she flows forward, steps into Tabitha’s space. Tabitha kisses her. It is familiar now, though it has not lost its sweetness for it.

“Wife,” Amira breathes against her cheek. Tabitha smiles.

“Wife,” she says, both confirmation and endearment.

* * *

Amira feels a twinge of anxiety as they reach a well-trod path. She thinks she can hear the bustle of a town, but that may only be in her head. It has been so long since she was among people; she hopes she doesn’t make a fool of herself.

Tabitha steps onto the path without hesitation. She turns to Amira.

“I promised to show you everything,” she says. “I don’t intend to break this promise.”

Amira’s heart lightens. She has Tabitha now, and they can lean on each other. They can be still or restless; they can wear shoes of strong leather; they can leave their old lives behind and move forward. The world is so much larger than Amira imagined.

She steps onto the path.


End file.
